When Ian and Mika stepped out of their room, they nearly ran into Aqua—who looked like an absolute wreck standing frozen by their door.
The moment he saw them, Aqua launched forward and wrapped both of them in a fierce, shaking hug.
"I'm so damn sorry for everything you two went through," he choked out. "For what it's worth, I've been gay my whole life, so trust me—I know a thing or two about surviving trauma. If you ever need help, or just someone to listen, you holler at this bitch and I'll be there. Anywhere. Anytime."
"Thanks, Aqua," both Ian and Mika murmured, hugging him back. They knew he meant every word.
Aqua quickly stepped back, wiping at his eyes. "Also—uh—sorry for hearing everything. I swear I wasn't eavesdropping. Ya girl was just about to head out when… you know… emotions started exploding everywhere. I froze like a dumbass. The best I could do was keep the others away when they heard the commotion too." He pressed a hand over his heart. "Your secret is safe with me. Promise."
"It's okay, Aqua, we're not mad," Ian said gently.
"And… thanks for caring," Mika added with a small, genuine smile.
"So about the others," Ian continued, "could you tell them Mika and I will be out for a bit?"
"Of course! Don't worry about anyone else. I'll handle it. You boys do what you gotta do." Aqua gave them a soft, reassuring smile.
"Thanks," Mika said.
As they were turning to leave, Aqua called out softly, voice breaking again, "I'm proud of both of you. And I'm so damn grateful you're still here. I'm lucky I got to meet men as strong and kind as you."
"The feeling's mutual," Ian replied with a warm smile.
And with that, Ian and Mika headed toward the mental-health facility provided for the trainees—free, private, and long overdue. Behind them, Aqua made good on his promise, corralling the others and shutting down any gossip before it could spark.
Outside the facility, Ian took a steadying breath. "I'll see you on the other side. You got this."
"I'll meet you on the other side," Mika said, nodding.
And the two of them stepped into separate therapy rooms.
About an hour later—eyes red, faces puffy—they walked out almost at the same time.
"How'd it go?" Ian asked.
"Better than I thought," Mika admitted. His voice was hoarse from crying. "You?"
"Same," Ian said. It wasn't poetic, but it was exactly the truth.
At that moment Mika's stomach let out a dramatic growl—loud enough to echo. Ian snorted.
"Alright, c'mon," he said. "Let's get something to eat."
When Mika hesitated, Ian's voice gentled. "It's okay. You can do this. Nobody's judging you for eating."
Mika let out a soft, shaky sigh… then smiled.
"I kinda miss eating a burger."
****
While Ian and Mika were grabbing a bite, word had clearly traveled fast. Foca had already been informed—every staff member on the island ultimately reported to him.
So when his invitation came, summoning them to his penthouse suite at the very top of the Jenga Tower, both boys felt their stomachs twist. Poor Mika had just taken his first real step toward eating normally again, and now he felt like he'd swallowed a whole brick.
Still, an invitation from the CEO wasn't optional. With sweaty palms and jittery nerves, they rode the private elevator up. A quiet maid greeted them and led them down the hall to Foca's study. She knocked three times, waited for the permission to enter, then stepped aside and motioned them in.
Ian and Mika exchanged one last bracing look—and walked in.
The room stunned them into silence. It was minimalistic, elegant, all clean lines and soft tones. Nothing flashy, but everything about it radiated quiet wealth and immaculate taste.
Foca looked up from his laptop, and a soft smile replaced his usual razor-sharp CEO expression. He suddenly looked his age—young, calm, almost gentle.
"Welcome. Please, sit," he said, waving them toward the couches in front of his mahogany desk.
They sat stiffly, hands awkward in their laps.
"Uh… are we in trouble?" Ian asked.
"Huh? No," Foca said immediately. "Of course not."
Mika swallowed. "Then may we ask… why you wanted to see us?"
"I'll get straight to it," Foca said, adjusting his glasses. "I've recently been informed of your situations. First—your courage in seeking help deserves praise. Truly. Second—and this is important—I promise your private matters will remain private. They will not be used for views or ratings."
At the mention of ratings, both boys froze. They had completely forgotten that the program was televised, recorded, archived… every second of their lives on the island contractually public.
"R-really?" they breathed at the same time.
"It's a promise," Foca said, firm and steady.
Relief washed over them so fast it almost made them dizzy. In the real world, producers, executives, even viewers would've pounced on trauma like starving hyenas. It would've been packaged, edited, sensationalized, and milked dry.
Yet here was a young man—barely older than them—treating them with respect, privacy, and kindness despite having all the power in the world.
"Thank you," they said together.
"Don't mention it," Foca replied. "It's simply the right thing to do."
If only the outside world worked like that.
"But," he continued, tone shifting into something more serious, "I do have one concern. I need to ask if you're both still capable of continuing the program. You're at the early stages of recovery, and this journey is demanding—emotionally, mentally, physically. We'll accommodate where we can, but we can't offer special treatment. It wouldn't be fair to the others."
Ian nodded slowly. "We understand. And… thank you for caring enough to ask. As for me, I want to continue. I've already grown so much here, learned so much about myself. It would feel wrong to back out now and spend the rest of my life wondering what I could've achieved."
"Ditto," Mika said softly. "I came here hoping to get better. And now that I finally am… not just as an artist, but as a person… I want to stay. I want to see where this path leads."
Foca smiled—a small, genuine one. "Very well. I respect your decisions."
And with that… their journey continued.